


The Daily Prophet Is Still a Gossip Rag

by phoenixgal



Series: Scenes from a Life [17]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Journalism, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Daily Prophet, Multi, Outing, Polyamory, gratuitous use of original characters, metamours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixgal/pseuds/phoenixgal
Summary: It's been years since The Daily Prophet published anything insidious about Harry, but when a journalist with an agenda gets hold of a rumor about Harry's life, he ends up outed to the wizarding world and has to come up with a response.





	The Daily Prophet Is Still a Gossip Rag

**Author's Note:**

> I think fans of this series (all three or so of you!) will like this one... but I'm not sure anyone else will. Like Muggle Relations, it started and then got a bit out of hand. There's a lot of Harry and Hermione and Ron friendship in here as well that I didn't expect to write. I love how all the young people write these amazing fics where being queer is literally not a thing in any way shape or form. As it should be. So affirming and awesome. But I'm so fandom old that can't not think about how these worlds clash - the young and the old.

Harry was feeling cheerful after a weekend out for the first time in ages. Sometimes, when he thought about things, about how the kids were now grown and he was the head of an entire division of the Ministry, he felt old. But when he didn't think about that, he didn't feel particularly old at all. When he was young, looking at professors and parents, they had seemed so ancient. Molly and Arthur had seemed like they belonged to some other world than himself when he was young. Now, he was the age they had been when he met them and it was funny that he had ever felt that way.

Life in his youth had been such chaos, Harry thought sometimes. He had been so deeply unsure about so many things. Life now was so settled. He had his family, his sprawling extended family, his lovers. He had Ginny, who was his anchor. And on weekends like the last one, when she had been abroad, coaching in Denmark, he could go out and was still handsome and alive enough to pull a decent bloke at a pub.

“You look cheerful,” Jules said, wandering into the kitchen in track bottoms and a sort of tartan dress that seemed to be mostly unfastened. She coughed, “Well-fucked.”

“Thanks for that, Jules,” Harry said. “You going out like that?”

“I'll have you know I'm consulting for Draco again today. Like a real job.”

Harry groaned. Jules had met Draco Malfoy and they had hit it off in the oddest way. Now more than a decade after his wife's death, Malfoy had apparently decided it was time to close up Malfoy Manor and sell everything off. Harry wasn't sure what was going on with him exactly and he really didn't care. Malfoy was all right to Scorpius and Albus and that was all that really mattered. He'd hired Jules to sort through all the dark artifacts in the basement and attic and so forth, taking curses off everything so it could go to auction.

“Don't tell me about anything illegal you find,” Harry said.

“As if I would.”

“Have you seen the Prophet this morning?”

Jules shrugged. “You know I never read the paper.”

Harry shook his head. “Bloody incompetent owls. It hasn't come for the last week. Oh well. I'm off. If I feel this good, I might go out again. Gin's not home for several more days.”

“Maybe I'll come with,” Jules said. “I'm a great wingman.”

“You're a terrible wingman. But come anyway.”

Jules laughed and Harry left through the Floo feeling buoyant.

The minute he stepped out of the Floo, he knew something was off. He was used to people looking at him. They still did sometimes, though things were so much better than the years just after the war, when he was paranoid about the press and skittish about the public. However, the way an older witch in heavy Ministry robes huffed at him as he walked past and a young man who was obviously with Magical Sports and Games literally stopped in his tracks, accidentally letting go of a snitch and two quaffles, was definitely not normal. Harry pursed his lips and hurried along to his office.

As soon as he entered through the big glass doors into the DMLE, everything just stopped. The activity at all the desks in the open room ceased and even the people coming in and out of the potions labs and offices and training rooms seemed to stop where they were and peer out into the main room. Harry paused. “Good morning,” he said, reminding himself that he, not them, was actually the one in charge.

There was a smattering of good mornings, followed by a lot of wide eyed looks and people calling him sir. Harry walked forward toward his office, which was up a little rounded staircase overlooking the floor on one side and the training rooms on the other. When he'd only been head auror, he had thought the absurd openness of the DMLE head office would make him feel like a toad in a tank, but he'd actually come to love the space. Today, he felt more like the toad as he walked up the steps.

Roxanne Weasley came bounding up to him, lips pursed. She was almost finished with her three year internship and Harry had been trying to be a good uncle and mentor without showing too much favoritism.

“Sir… er… Uncle Harry,” she whispered and Harry could see she was clutching something in her hand.

Harry was not so oblivious to not realize that she was about to let him in on whatever had everyone in such an uproar. He nodded and she came up the stairs after him. He could see it was a copy of the Prophet, slightly balled up.

As he closed the door behind them, Harry flicked his wand at the door and then at the glass on both sides, letting it go cloudy.

“Right,” he started. “What's...”

“I want to take the photos to the lab,” Roxy said earnestly. “Remember last month when they had that photo of the Minister and it turned out to be doctored? I think we can prove it. All of them!”

Harry well remembered the doctored photo of Hermione looking like she was secretly signing a bill that would have outlawed new magical construction. It had been a huge annoyance to the Ministry, proving that she hadn't done any such thing and then showing the way the images in the photo had been magically altered. The methods of changing magical photos were evolving fast and the Prophet claimed they themselves had been duped.

“Roxy, I'm afraid my paper didn't even come this morning. You're going to have to catch me up a bit before I can decide to order investigations.”

“Oh!” she said. Her eyebrows raised and he was sure she would have been bright red if her coloring would have showed her embarrassment. “Er...” She took a step back, still clutching the Prophet.

“Let's have a look,” Harry said, slightly numb. He had a deep, sinking feeling, all the lightness of the morning turning to lead.

He took the paper from her. Roxy ran a hand over her neat braids and shuffled her feet.

Harry opened up the black and white paper, smoothing it out. There, on the front page, in an unmistakably clear image, was himself and the man from the pub over the weekend, just at the moment when he had leaned in and kissed Harry right at the bar, knocking over Harry's thankfully empty drink. Harry watched as the ice spilled out and then looped to spill all over again as the man's mouth pressed to his.

“Potter Scandal,” the giant headline proclaimed. “DMLE Head and Savior Caught in Multiple Homosexual Affairs,” the headline below elaborated. “Photos inside!” a sideways headline added.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry said. His head swam and for a moment, he thought he was going to completely pass out, everything got so fuzzy. Vaguely, he realized what he really needed was to sit down. Somehow he managed to get himself behind his desk and in his chair. By the time he got there, the copy of the Prophet was on the floor and he pushed back, wanting to put his head between his knees.

There was someone else in the office with him though, and Harry managed to look up and see his niece, gripping the newspaper again, looking concerned. She was talking as well and Harry tried his best to tune himself back in.

“...can take it to the lab right now!” Roxy was saying.

“Oh, er...” Harry made himself sit upright. “You can't… you shouldn't do that, Roxanne.”

“But you've got to fight this thing! They can't be allowed to get away with making things up and smearing your name like that! You're Harry Potter for Merlin's sake!”

Harry braced himself. “The thing is, it's… well… they haven't faked anything,” Harry managed to say.

He should have turned away. He knew it even as he watched Roxy's face go from righteous anger on his behalf to complete bewilderment to horrified all in the flash of a second. She looked crushed, all her hero worship of her uncle, the one she had followed into the aurors for, draining away in one horrible moment.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry said again, realizing that Roxy's emotions were about to be mirrored by people everywhere. He'd never much liked having fans, but he suddenly felt terrible about having let these people down.

Roxy looked like she was about to cry when the door opened.

Harry looked up in surprise. He was certain he'd locked the door, but then he saw Hermione and sank back into the chair slightly.

“I was getting ready to go to your house,” she said, sounding frustrated. “Then I heard you were here. Whatever possessed you to just come in?” she asked.

“I didn't get the paper,” he said. Then he furrowed his brow. “I think Jules canceled our subscription.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. She and Ginny's girlfriend had come to some sort of truce, but Harry didn't think they'd ever be friends.

“Damage control,” Hermione said. “You need Ginny on this too.”

“She's in Denmark.”

“Well, get her back,” Hermione said.

“She has a career of her own, you know,” Harry said.

“Will she… even help you?” Roxanne's voice emerged like a sort of squeak, completely unlike her usual forceful self.

“Oh, hello, Roxy,” Hermione said. “Yes, she'll help all right. She's better at the spotlight than you ever were, Harry.”

Harry grimaced. It was very true. “She'll be home day after tomorrow. I...” He looked around. “I should… I...”

Hermione paused. “You should go home.”

“I can't believe this is happening. I've been complacent,” Harry said.

“Who… who is he?” Hermione asked carefully.

“Ah… no one,” Harry admitted. “Muggle I pulled at a pub this weekend is all. He was nice. I thought I might see him again.” He could see the side of the man's head in the photo clutched in Roxy's hand. “Maybe not now though. Fuck, Hermione. I haven't even been out like that in months and months.”

“Oh, Harry,” she said. “It'll be all right. Go get to the Floo before this gets worse. I'm going to send you the names of a couple of political consultants. They can help with things like this. I'll be along later.”

Harry couldn't quite imagine, but he nodded.

“Did you… read the article?” Hermione asked.

“No.”

“Maybe don't then,” she suggested, before leaving out the door, her young secretary, who had apparently been standing at the top of the stairs, dashing off behind her.

Harry was left in his office with Roxy, who looked like she had been recently imperioused.

The fog that Harry was feeling dissipated slightly and a sense of anger edged in. “Don't? What does it…?” He stood up and took the article from Roxy's hand without asking and began skimming over the text.

Harry had thought he couldn't be taken more by surprise, but the article was even worse than he had expected. By the time he tore open the paper to the inside page, he was even more in shock. Inside, there were two more crisply clear photos of himself and the man from the weekend, including one that Harry realized with a shock must have been taken through the window into the man's flat. There was also a more grainy photo of himself with Neville. Neville was in deep shadow, so he was pretty sure he couldn't be identified. Harry thought it was from when he went to a conference a few months back with Neville, meaning it was taken abroad. To round out the group, there was a picture of Julianna enthusiastically kissing him in his own back garden. Harry's face burned.

They had reports of other affairs, of muggle pubs. They made it sound deeply seedy. They made Ginny sound like a pitiable idiot. The whole piece was peppered with speculation that Harry had used unforgivable curses and love potions to secure his affairs. They suggested no one “like him” could be trusted in such a position of authority.

It hurt more than he had expected. When Harry was younger, he had been so scared, so closeted, so afraid of being found out. He had thought, watching Albus come out and treat being gay as something so casual, that things had really changed. He thought again of Albus and felt a strange pang. Al was still in New York with Scorpius. But James and Lily were both here.

“I should go,” Harry said. He was afraid to chance another look at Roxy, so he threw the newspaper behind him and strode out.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. After asking Garrison and Singh to take over for the week, Harry got himself through the Floo and home, where he owled all the kids and Ginny and let Hermione's owl in with the names of her “consultants.” But he couldn't quite bring himself to owl back. Instead, he ended up trying to distract himself, first with an old book, then by doing odd jobs around the house that had needed to be done for ages. He fixed a lamp that had been out for ages and then ended up tearing down half of a kitchen cabinet that had gotten accidentally hexed somehow and kept slamming on everyone's fingers.

James's owl back just said simply, “Love you, Dad.” It was Lily who actually arrived through the Floo.

“Well, that was certainly traumatic,” she announced, brushing the dust off her stylish outer robes as she stepped from the fireplace. “Georgia and I met for breakfast before work and of course she takes the Prophet and suddenly wanted to know every detail of my parents' sex lives. No offense, Dad, but ew. I had to be like, George, we're cousins and I love you but you're being disgusting. Also, my parents are fine, don't believe everything you see in the Prophet. She's my best mate, but I swear she's so frustrating, Dad. Then I got to the gallery and instead of sticking me at the boring desk all day like usual, Henri wanted me to help with the restoration project. I thought, finally! But no, he really just wanted to chat me up and get gossip. I swear I nearly quit. It's only my love of art keeping me there.”

Lily shrugged off her robes, smoothing out the short, peacock style lacy dress she had on underneath and toeing off her heeled shoes. “And that's just my day. Dad, I can't even imagine yours. It must be a horror.”

“Er… you might say that,” Harry replied. He was always a little in awe of how Lily took everything nearly the same way. Her final year at Hogwarts, there had been some trouble with wild magic from the Forbidden Forest and she'd been attacked by a rogue shuggree, a sort of ape-like creature that wasn't even native to Britain. Harry's heart had nearly stopped listening to her tell the story, but she had told it like the monster had been a rude cousin she'd made the mistake of inviting around to tea.

“Well, Dom and I were planning to have dinner and the Burrow. Grandma's cooking is always good on a wild day. I just have to make sure I don't have too many wild days or I'll end up more plump than a troll.” Lily sat down on the sofa and waved her wand at the kitchen, silently accio'ing a glass, then filling it with an aguamenti.

“That's a nice idea,” Harry said. The fog in his head was killing him and he wasn't sure what to do. He had opened James's owl back and read Hermione's note telling him to contact her consultants, but there was a pile of owl post accumulating by the window that he simply didn't want to look at and had been avoiding paying any attention to. At least two of them were howlers and he was preemptively furious about what he was sure he would hear from them. He dreaded hearing them scream at him that he was a ponce, a shirt-lifter, a sodomite, and right into his own home.

“Right, then go get ready. For goodness sakes, you've got grease and dust on you. I see you finally tore the hexed cabinet down. I do think that was the way to go, Dad. I don't know why Mum thought it was worth trying to save in the first place.”

“Get ready?”

“Yes. Unless you have plans?”

That was how Harry found himself leaving a note for Jules whenever she got home and heading through the Floo to the Burrow after his daughter.

He realized it was a mistake as soon as he followed Lily through. The living room at the Burrow was occupied, not just by Dominique, who Lily was already waving to, but by Percy, Audrey, and George, as well as Roxy and Fred, who was home from Hogwarts for the holidays, one of the last cousins still at school. Not that this was a surprise. At any moment, the Burrow was filled or empty alternately. Ginny once joked that her mother had put summoning charms on them all as babies so that if one of them came home, all of them would.

They had obviously all been engaged in various activities, but everything had ceased the moment he stepped through.

“Dom!” Lily was saying cheerfully. Harry had thought, when she was little, that his youngest was oblivious to social discomforts, but he had realized as she got older that plowing into them was her way of fixing them. Still, he wasn't sure anything could fix this.

“Hey, Lils,” Dominique replied quietly.

“It's like a party in here,” Lily declared. “A quiet one though. Dom, we should find vintage Celestina Warbeck in Grandma's phono collection and liven things up.”

“Er...” Dominique said.

Harry's head pounded. It had been years, he realized, actual years since he had experienced a panic anything like this. Why couldn't Ron be there? Or Hermione? Or Ginny? Merlin, why hadn't he hopped on a broom and flown all the way to Denmark the moment this whole thing had broken? Why hadn't he stayed home and waited for Julianna instead? Jules would have annoyed him out of any panic attack. Fuck, Harry thought.

Molly wandered in from the kitchen. “What's going on in here, you've all gone...” She trailed off. “Harry,” she said, spotting him by the Floo.

Fight or flight was taking over for him and he knew neither response was appropriate to the scene. Still, if he had to choose between drawing his wand on his in-laws and running away, tail between his legs, he obviously had to pick the latter.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Fresh air.”

Percy huffed out a sort of good riddance noise. As Harry passed, George released something small that stung Harry on the arm, though he barely felt it and brushed whatever it was off in his rush for the door.

“Well, I thought we were all family,” he heard Lily complaining as he got outside. A tiny part of his heart warmed for his daughter, but somehow it was not enough to block out the oncoming panic. Harry managed to make it to the side of the old shed, kicking a garden gnome out of the way as he went. He sank to the ground, grateful his knees still allowed for that sort of thing because it wasn't like he really had a choice in the matter at that point.

“Fuck,” Harry swore. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He drew in several too deep breaths before he forced himself to put his head between his knees. Calming drought. He hadn't taken any in ages. He reaching into the pocket of his jacket. Most of his coats had a small expansion charm on the pockets. He felt around and eventually withdrew a tiny vial, but when his shaking hands uncorked it, it was dried out. No wonder, he thought. A potion like that only had a short lifetime and he hadn't wanted or needed any in so long.

At that moment though, he wished he had a whole gallon of the stuff.

Finding the potion bottle empty set him back to gasping for air again, as if it were a quantity that would run out on him.

He had almost forced himself to breathe normally and formulate a plan, which was basically to walk out beyond the protective wards and apparate away as soon as he thought he could, when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Hullo, Harry. You all right there?”

Harry looked up to see Arthur Weasley standing next to him. Arthur had gotten more spindly in his old age, his hair almost white and much more unkempt than it was in his youth. He still moved with a solid strength.

“Oh, er… I'm just… I'll be leaving… I just needed… I'm sorry about…” Harry waved his hand vaguely, as if to suggest his whole existence. 

“No need for that,” Arthur said mildly. “I'm afraid that sitting in the grass is not in my constitution these days,” he added, waving his wand and summoning one of the garden benches, which settled itself at Harry's back.

Arthur sat down on it and Harry shuffled aside, but Arthur laid a hand on his back and patted him gently.

“Son,” he said.

And Harry, who hadn't known he was holding anything inside him but a fog of anxiety, suddenly felt a sob stifle in his chest. He rubbed his hand under his glasses.

“Son,” Arthur repeated, “I can't pretend to understand you and Ginevra. Or why you both need… what you need. But marriages are unique. You make her very happy. And I certainly made my peace with it all years ago. We love you. And you are our son.”

Harry nodded, blinking. “I… thank you...” he managed.

“The first time Ron brought you home,” Arthur said, “Molly and I were both appalled by your upbringing. Molly said don't make a fuss about it, it'll only make it worse. But she also said something that always stuck with me, that you were lucky that you had not lost the ability to love but that you'd need a great deal of love and acceptance in return. Even when things were rough with Ginny, I think we've always tried to give you that.”

“You have,” Harry choked out.

“We're still here, Harry. Sorry if things were a bit chilly in there. Molly really does not like when things don't appear in order and all that. But we do love you. I promise you that.”

Harry nodded, surprised by all this. Arthur wasn't usually one for emotional declarations.

“If you'll come back inside, you can see Lily trying to bring things back into some semblance of order. That girl is rather exhausting, don't you think?”

Harry smiled. “I can't keep up with her. Never could.”

“I also think if you have it in you to say a few words, it might do a bit of good. When Ginny gets home, she'll beat her brothers in order, but the younger ones are confused. Perhaps a bit of a word from you...”

Harry sighed and nodded. “Yeah. I… it's not easy for me to…” He took a breath. “I'll try.”

By the time Harry got himself back inside, the sun was mostly down and food was on the table, chairs duplicated by spellwork and the table grown to accommodate everyone. It was used to this sort of thing though and Molly was excellent at making the room seem not as small as it actually was.

Ron was there now, talking to George, probably about business, Harry thought. He took a slightly shaky step toward the two of them.

“Bad luck today, mate,” Ron said.

“That's a bit of an understatement,” Harry said.

George watched them and Harry forced himself to stand his ground.

“You talked to Gin yet?” Ron asked. When Harry shook his head, Ron sighed. “You'll feel better when she's back.”

“Oh?” George said, deadpan. “I'm sure she'll love this.”

“No one would love this,” Ron replied. “But she loves Harry.”

Harry forced himself to look awkwardly at George and then let out a breath. “I should… er…” He reminded himself of everything Arthur had said and then faced the table, where everyone was just getting settled.

“If I could… er… if I could say something,” Harry said.

They all fell silent again and Harry looked up to the beams set into the ceiling. “I think everyone knows that there was… well…”

“An especially nasty gossip rag item?” Ron asked.

“Er… yes,” Harry said, glancing at his oldest friend. “I… Well, some of you know and some of you don't know maybe… It's always been hard for me to… I mean, the press has always been difficult for me and I've always wanted to be more private than they… well, you know that. I know I'm not good at talking about myself much, but I suppose you all should know that both Gin and I are queer and we both have other… er… relationships. And no one is unhappy. It's nothing like the Prophet… well… it's our business and not anyone else's, but you're all family and it's not meant to be a secret, just… private.” He chanced a look around at the table. “Merlin, I wish Gin were here.”

“I don't know, I think you're doing all right on your own.”

Harry spun and saw Ginny standing at the door, leaning in the entry, smiling. Her hair was up, little streaks of gray in her still soft red, and she was still in quidditch practice clothes, looking almost like she'd just come from flying. In fact, her broom was propped in the door.

“You didn't fly all the way from Denmark?”

“Just from the International Portkey Terminal,” Ginny said. “It's not precisely legal, but I have an in with magical law enforcement.” She wrapped an arm around him. “You're brilliant, you know that?”

“Hardly,” he whispered back. The fog in his head seemed to dissipate with her around and he thought he might melt with relief.

After that, dinner got a great deal more bearable. Lily seemed to take over, getting everyone talking about a muggle film that had been playing at the theater at the far end of Diagon for well over a month. It featured outer space and aliens. They all laughed over muggles fantasies and wizards who watched it and thought the pictures were real.

“It's computer geminators,” Arthur declared. “It was in Muggle Notions last month.”

“Some things never change,” Ginny whispered in his ear and Harry smiled.

* * *

Ginny didn't bring up the Prophet until they were in bed. As they'd come in, Jules had said with a grin, “I made the papers, did you see?” and Ginny had kissed her then flicked her ear and told her there'd be hexes if she brought it up again.

They didn't even make love, just fitted bodies together and stayed that way until Ginny had decided Harry felt safe enough, at least, that's what he supposed. She was merciless when she'd decided that a topic needed to be dealt with.

“So, what are we going to do?”

“Hermione basically told me to leave work,” Harry said, pushing his face into her shoulder to breathe her in a little more.

“She wasn't firing you though. Was she?”

“No. She told me to talk to some consultants. I think to fix all this somehow. If they're going to fire me, they have to actual fire me or ask me to step down. I haven't violated any laws. I ought to know.”

“Harry, after you said those things at dinner, things were better, right?”

Harry hummed, wrapping his fingers around Ginny's and lacing his leg over hers.

“I think you need to do that. It's always been better when you've actually talked to the press. Back to school days. It's when you try to hide and not work with them that things are difficult.”

“They've mostly left me alone for years now,” Harry groused.

“But when they want a piece of you, they always take it,” Ginny said. “Just think about it.”

* * *

When Harry woke up in the morning, it was to a commotion down below. He trusted the wards weren't letting just anyone in, but he had a certain sense of dread going downstairs until he rounded the stairway and saw the source of the commotion was all three of his children, plus Scorpius Malfoy.

“Dad!” Lily said brightly.

“Do you have to be so cheerful?” Al moaned. “Let Dad be depressed.”

“Don't tell Dad how to feel,” James snapped.

“Did I really come all the way from New York, just to hear the three of you bicker?” Scorpius drawled, sounding enough like his father that Harry started. Albus jabbed his boyfriend mildly and Scorpius sighed a put upon sigh.

“You came all the way with a cunning plan,” Albus said.

“Hardly a plan,” James sneered.

“It's a seed of good intel,” Lily said.

“Intel?” James asked. “Godric's Balls, you're still dating that muggle, aren't you?”

“None of your business,” she snapped back. “Who anyone sees is none of anyone else's business but their own, right, Dad?”

“Er...” Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair, knowing he was only making whatever wild thing it was doing even worse.

“Give him a moment to wake up,” James said.

“Where's your mother?” Harry asked. “And… how did you two even get here?”

“We have connections,” Albus said. “Or, Scor does. Bypassing absurd American restrictions on magic is easier with good connections.”

“She had to go in and take care of something early,” James said. “She said she'd be back soon.”

“Have pancakes, Dad,” Lily said, holding up a plate.

Harry finished making his way into the dining room and sat in front of the plate Lily offered. It did smell good.

“What was this plan?” Harry asked.

Unfortunately, this question only led to more of his children trading jabs and then, touchingly, actually catching up with each other. He'd have to wait for Ginny, it seemed. Both James and Lily left for work, which was still an adjustment, seeing his children launch into actual careers. Julianna woke up and she and Scorpius began talking about whatever she'd been taking curses off of at Malfoy Manor while Albus told Harry about work he was doing with muggle technology.

When Ginny finally got home, and Julianna left for the day, the boys finally started to talk.

“So, we know Evan Flint,” Albus started.

“Sorry, who?” Ginny asked. Harry was also a little bewildered.

“Evan's byline was on that piece of trash article the Prophet published,” Albus said. “He was two years ahead of us at school.”

“In Slytherin?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Albus snapped. “If it makes a difference, which it does not.”

“I don't see why this is of any use or importance,” Harry said.

Scorpius shrugged. “Evan's gay.”

“The person who wrote that utterly homophobic rubbish is gay?” Ginny asked.

“I don't think he wrote it exactly,” Scorpius said. “It probably helps to know his history though. He was in love with this bloke Davies, from Ravenclaw. Davies messed around with him a bit, but then he turned on Evan viciously when they broke up. What was a secret relationship became very, very public. At first, Evan was angry. He was a terror in the common room for weeks. And kids weren't nice about it. He wasn't exactly a popular student before all this. He wasn't mean or anything, just reserved. After this, kids started calling him horrible names and bullying him. The Gryffindors were nasty to him.”

“That's why I...” Albus started, but Scorpius cut him off.

“Let's not, Al,” he said. “Look, the main point is that Evan was forced to come out to his family and they were a bunch of homophobic gits. They made it clear he was cut off. He spent his last holidays stuck at Hogwarts with nowhere to go. At the time, Al and I were just… well… we'd only just snogged the once by then, but I think we were both starting to figure things out ourselves. I went to Evan and told him and...”

“And he reacted like a complete git,” Albus said.

“Al, that's not fair.”

“He outed Scor to our whole house,” Albus groused.

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I think Evan was just burned so badly,” Scorpius said. “He feels like the best way to make things better is for everyone to be forced out. I don't know if you know this, but my father told me that in my grandfather and great-grandfather's day, same sex affairs were really common among certain purebloods. It was a way to… keep lines pure, I think, if your only affair was homosexual, there was no worries about half-bloods turning up down the line. But these were abusive relationships a lot of the time. I think rape was common from the way my father described it. And it was something you didn't talk about it, not ever. So it was normal, but not normal. That was the sort of thing that Evan's pure blood family would have been all in. Evan wants to bring all of it into the light, whether people are closeted because they're abusers or for other reasons.”

Ginny leaned on the table, pulling apart an orange. “If his goal is queer solidarity, he's got a pretty bizarre way of showing it. That article was complete rubbish.”

“Evan and I made our peace last year, when he started working at the Prophet,” Scorpius said. “I think if somehow he heard a rumor that, of all people, Harry Potter was queer, that would have really incensed him. I mean, who better to out, to show everyone that anyone can be gay? That their hero is gay?”

“I still hate the git,” Albus said. “But I don't think he wrote that. It doesn't even sound like him. He's been at the Prophet for a little while. I think he pitched this story, got the dirt, and then they didn't like his take and they redid it to be more sensational but kept his byline.”

“So what does this have to do with anything?” Ginny asked. Harry was wondering the same thing.

“We think you should go back to Evan and get him to do the story right. We're pretty sure he'll do it.”

“He owes me,” Scorpius said. “My father helped him get a job at the Prophet in the first place. And I think you can use him.”

“But who's to say that the Prophet isn't just going to change the story around however they like,” Ginny said.

“Contractual agreements,” Scorpius said. “You approve the story. Evan will probably go for it. The Prophet doesn't want to be scooped by someone else.”

There was a pause and suddenly Harry realized they were all looking at him. “Oh,” he said. “Yes, carry on. Call up your old friend.”

“He's not my old friend,” Albus objected.

“I saw Hermione's note,” Ginny said. “She wants you to go do damage control, but honestly, I'm sick of this, Harry. You know I was ready to do this decades ago now. If you're all right with doing it, I'd much rather just say, hello, world, we're queer, fuck you, get used to it and leave us alone.”

“Nice, Mum,” Albus said.

“Thanks, dear. But if your father doesn't want to, it's up to him. I don't think it's going to hurt me in coaching. I mean, I was on the Harpies for goodness sakes. I already have a certain reputation, even if it's silly. And sleeping around is hardly bad news in the professional quidditch world. But I don't know what would happen to your career.”

Harry thought then of his job heading up the DMLE. He did love his job in many ways. He felt like he did good, important work. But he didn't know any other way.

“I'll talk to Hermione,” he said.

* * *

“Honestly, Harry,” she said. “I just don't know if this is the best idea.”

“Why.” Harry put the teacup Hermione had just given him back on the saucer with a clink and looked at her across her slightly squishy sofa, feeling almost steely cold.

It was funny how much her little cottage house was like a miniaturized version of the Burrow. Harry thought that was probably Ron's doing and not hers though. Only the overflowing library was really Hermione's in this house.

Hermione put her own teacup down and Harry recognized the look she got when she was in political mode. “I'm getting pressure from the Wizengamot to ask for your resignation. I think you have to tread carefully here. You know how I hate that everything has to be political like this, but these consultants, Harry, they know their job. They'll help you minimize the damage. I don't think doing some tell all interview with an untrustworthy reporter is going to do that.”

“Maybe I don't care,” Harry said, surprising himself a little at his own words.

“But,” Hermione said, “of course you care. You're so great at your job, Harry. You keep everyone honest. You… you're a hero to so many, Harry. I know that makes you uncomfortable, but you are. You do so much good from your job.”

Hearing Hermione's words, Harry felt such a wave of shame that he wanted to buckle. Despite her urging, he suddenly felt more resolved than he had before to do the interview.

“Godric's Balls. You've got to be taking the piss, Hermione,” he said, angry. “Do you even… I'm not a fucking hero! Maybe once, as a kid, I stumbled into being… You know I don't like to talk about this!” Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

He tried to start again. “After the war, I was so fucked up, Hermione. It's a wonder I didn't get myself killed getting off with random muggle blokes in alleyways and throwing myself at Ginny and taking too many calming potions to escape from all the noise in my own head. I was a terrible auror at first and it's only that I was so bloody famous that anyone let me off the hook for some of the blunders I had. I barreled into things my first two years on the jobs that… if one of my trainees did some of that, I'd have them out so fast because they'd be a danger to themselves and the team.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Don't. It's so bloody long ago now. But I was a coward in many ways. I didn't know how to ask for help and I never figured out how to come out properly. I spent years hating myself that… Of course you don't understand. Of course to you it's all politics – the article, the reaction, however I respond. It's all just chess moves for the Minister of Magic. But this is who I am. This isn't just chess moves. It's my fucking life. And maybe you don't understand why I want… why I'm fucking sick of tiptoeing around everyone. But I am. And Ginny… Merlin, I don't deserve her. She would have been so much happier if I'd just let her be out years ago. When we were younger, I penned her in and demanded things of her that weren't fair at all. And punished her when she rightly lashed out against me. I don't deserve her or Jules or for Neville to still care about me after the way I… And maybe I just want to deserve them all just a little bit.”

Harry was surprised by how worked up he had gotten. He wasn't given to emotional outbursts and Hermione looked beyond shocked.

“I don't expect you to understand. If you sack me over it, then it's no more than I deserve in a way. Or, I don't deserve it, because I am bloody good at my job and you know full well this has nothing to do with that, but I can live with it. I can live with not being an auror or the head of Magical Law Enforcement. I don't know if I can live with letting your consultants lie about my life. Or, about who I am.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. She sniffled. “Now I need a tissue. I'm so sorry. I don't… You're absolutely right. I don't understand, but I should have listened better. I've been a terrible friend.”

Harry turned to her and saw that her face was puffy with tears. Before he could say anything, she had launched herself across the sofa at him. “Harry, I love you so much,” she said, wrapping him in a hug. “I'm sorry for… for all of that.”

“Oh,” he said, the anger draining away, only to be replaced with a similar teariness. He didn't cry, because he almost never cried, which was something he hated about himself sometimes, that his emotions didn't have the same outlet as Ginny or even Jules, who could work herself up to a good cry when she needed one.

At that moment, as Hermione was draped half over him and he returned her hug, pushing his face into her hair, the front door opened and Ron came in.

“What did I miss?” he asked, sounding concerned. “Did someone die? Tell me no one died.”

Despite himself, Harry laughed, though it got caught in his throat funny.

“Get over here and tell Harry how much you love him,” Hermione insisted.

Ron looked so stricken that Harry couldn't help but laugh again.

“Er, he knows that,” Ron said. “Oh, Merlin, you're not dying, are you, mate?”

“I'm fine, Ron,” Harry said.

“He's not fine,” Hermione insisted. “He needs you to tell him you love him no matter what.”

“Godric's Balls, what's he about to do?” Ron asked.

This time Harry managed to laugh for real.

“Ron, I love you, but you have the emotional awareness of a flobberworm,” Hermione complained.

“You've been crying,” Ron said, dropping a bag from work that let out a suspiciously strange wheezing sound that Harry hoped was all right to ignore. Ron sat on the footrest across from his wife and looked at both of them with concern.

“It's really all right, Ron,” Harry said. “Just a lot of old wounds.”

“They seemed rather fresh,” Hermione said, gripping his hand. “Harry's just given me a well deserved scolding about why I should mind my own business and let him come out in the Prophet.”

Harry eyed Ron carefully. It had been a couple of years since he and Ron had to have it out about his marriage, but at one time Ron had been so uncomfortable around him and Harry still felt ashamed that he had never told Ron he was bent, but had instead gotten caught snogging Neville at the worst moment possible. There was a part of him that, despite years of renewed friendship, was still scared of being rejected.

“It's about time,” Ron said.

Harry felt that choked up feeling return in force. He nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Ron.”

“After the war,” Hermione started, “we all retreated from each other and I… I regret that so much now, Harry. I wish we had been there for you while you worked everything out. I'm so sorry that I wasn't supportive enough.”

Harry shook his head. He didn't want to think about all the times Ron had been uncomfortable with his sexuality in the past or all the times he hadn't let Hermione in. “Please stop,” he said. “It really is all right. I just wanted you to understand why I have to do it. You don't have to… to be emotional about it. I know you're both there for me now.”

“But maybe we weren't when it mattered most,” Hermione said.

Ron coughed slightly and looked down. “I… er… It was just a bit different twenty years ago, wasn't it?” Ron said. “I'm… er… I'm sorry too if I was ever awkward about you being bisexual.”

“Guys, it really is all right,” Harry said, and he was surprised to realize how much he meant it. “I didn't ask for help or explain myself. Thank Merlin I had Ginny because without her… Well, it doesn't bear considering, honestly. And I'm happy now. I have everything I could have ever wanted. So… yeah.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

Evan Flint was just as pretentious and self-righteous as Harry had feared, but he started the interview by saying, grudgingly, “Scor says I'm to give you a fair shake and my horrible bosses at the Prophet say you get to approve the final copy, so, go ahead, give me your side.” He almost had a sneer as he said it, waving his hand over the little table in the muggle cafe where they had agreed to meet.

Ginny, luckily, knew how to kill with kindness and had him eating out of her hand by the end. Harry did his best to stumble over an explanation of his life while Ginny said eloquent things about privacy and fame.

“It's a different world now,” Harry said toward the end of their discussion. Evan still had his lip slightly curled, so Harry was unsure if they'd made a decent impression. “That's not an excuse, but also, I'm different. If I was young now, I hope that I'd make different choices because more choices would be available to me.”

Harry went to pay the check with Ginny at his back as Evan packed up his notebooks and looked around the muggle cafe with some disgust. “I don't think we made much of an impression,” Harry said quietly, as he handed over several pound notes.

“No matter. Trust this former reporter. We were very quotable and he has to get our approval. It'll work out fine. Ginny squeezed his shoulder then excused herself to the loo.

Harry leaned against the corridor wall, waiting, as Evan approached him. “I must say, Mr. Potter,” Evan said, “you weren't at all what I expected.”

“Oh?” Harry said. “Off the record, does that mean you're sorry for your first piece?”

Evan scoffed. “Hardly. My editors may have added a lot of tripe to that piece, but if this tell all was the result, I can't complain. And I may not have the clout to convince The Prophet to run a fair story, but you obviously do. I'd say my goals have been rather met, wouldn't you?”

Harry scoffed in return. He hadn't really expected an apology for all the upheaval in his life over the last week that Evan's article had caused, but he had felt he had to ask.

“While we're off the record, and while your beard… sorry, your wife, is off doing something else, I wanted to be sure to tell you that I hope we cross paths again soon. Perhaps intimately.”

Harry wasn't sure whether to gape or laugh at Evan's audacity. Luckily, before he had to do more than sputter, Ginny reappeared.

“Ready, Harry?” she asked.

“Er… yeah.”

“Thanks again, Mr. Flint,” Ginny said. “I look forward to reading your piece.”

“Pleasure,” Evan said, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

By the time they were out in the alley, ready to apparate, Harry was sputtering. “He made a pass at me!”

“No,” Ginny said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You're taking the piss.”

Harry sputtered. “I wish! He… Merlin and Morgan, Gin. This better be worth it.”

* * *

Harry wasn't totally sure how he felt about going back to work. The monthlong unexpected sabbatical had given him a lot to think about. He knew there were going to be changes when he went back. Chiefly, he was starting to think about his exit strategy. Not every wizard had to be like Hermione, who was probably going to still be sitting on the Wizengamot at age 102. If he wanted to retire in his 50's, then he could. There were other adventures to be had and he still felt young enough to have them.

“What in the world are you doing?” Ginny asked, sitting down at breakfast and pushing the Prophet aside.

“Er… just thinking,” Harry said. He let the dish that he'd been idly spinning midair drop to the table and there was a slight chinking sound.

“Harry,” Ginny said, though he knew she wasn't actually annoyed. It was just old habit by this point.

“Sorry. Where's Jules?”

“Ah. Yes. About that. Jules didn't come home last night.”

“Oh. All right. Has she met someone?” It had been almost two years since Jules's accident and Harry was thrilled that she was back on her feet, so to speak.

Ginny hummed, pouring herself some tea.

“What does that mean?”

“Yes. I think she's gotten… Yes. I don't think it's anything serious though.”

“Well, you'd hardly know with Jules, would you?” Harry said. He stood up and found his robes, taken out and pressed the night before. He slid them on again. “Do you know who it is?”

Ginny hummed again.

Harry stopped looking for his briefcase. “All right. What gives? Who was she with?”

Ginny took a bite of her toast. “Mmmflee.”

“What was that?”

She swallowed. “Fine. You know she's been doing that freelancing again for Draco Malfoy and they've gotten rather chummy.”

“Malfoy?” Harry grimaced. He'd made his peace, not just with Malfoy's continued existence in the world, but with his presence in his younger son's life that meant they even had to cross paths routinely. Malfoy still sneered and occasionally made snide comments, but he was never outright cruel anymore, at least around Harry. Harry was content to let the sod live.

“He's lonely. And he misses his wife. I think Jules just… took pity on him a little. I think they're just having a bit of fun.”

“Malfoy? Fun?” Harry almost sputtered. “Oh, Gin, no...”

She shrugged. “Haven't you always thought that if Jules had grown up here, that the Sorting Hat...”

“Stop,” Harry begged. “I don't want to think about it.”

She shrugged. “Jules is ours, but you know she's her own person. She asked if it would be a thing for you. She knows your rivalry. I told her not to worry about it. Don't be mad. I wouldn't have chosen Malfoy for her either, but… she's been so happy lately. I like Jules happy and I don't have to be the reason. She's… she's free to sleep with who she likes.”

Harry sighed. “I would not call the things Malfoy did to me a rivalry.”

“Your case is by the Floo. You should really go so you're not late.”

“You're trying to distract me.”

“I very much am. I can't say I'm much for thinking about Draco Malfoy sleeping with Jules either. Let's be distracted from it both, shall we?”

“You're horrid,” Harry said, leaning over to kiss her and tasting her marmalade and minty morning tea. “I love you.”

“You too, dear,” she said.

By the time he got through the Floo and into work for the first time in weeks, he was nervous enough that Jules sleeping with Malfoy was mostly gone from his head. He could do this, he reminded himself repeatedly.

The funny thing was that he really could do it. The upheaval over his coming out in the Prophet had mostly died down surprisingly quickly. Ginny and Jules had joked repeatedly that people couldn't decide whether to be flustered about his queerness or his polyamory and in the end the two had mostly canceled each other out as no one knew what to be upset about anymore.

The worst moment had come when, several days after the story ran, a Witch Weekly reporter had cornered him on Diagon to demand if Dumbledore had molested him. Harry's furor over it, and the resulting Prophet editoralizing about it had resurfaced the issue of Dumbledore being gay, something that was one of those things everyone knew, but was still rarely written about directly in history books. The Prophet seemed to decide that taking a more pro-gay approach was better for their image, or their circulation. Harry didn't really care which, he just liked the results, which was that people started to leave him alone about it a little more.

As he walked into the office, he got some strange looks and he inwardly sighed. It would just take a little time, and some people, like his two deputies, were clearly relieved to see him back.

Roxanne Weasley gave him an overenthusiastic wave and smile, which was heartening.

And then the day was on. There were two illicit potion dealing cases on his desk, four probable muggle abuse cases, and one wizard amassing followers for his wizards only succession plan.

Harry didn't surface until the afternoon, when he realized he needed to get lunch or he'd be out of sorts later. It was late enough that the cafeteria downstairs was mostly empty. The pigeons fluttered around the little fountain in the center of the space, where some of the gargoyles had been charmed to sing and were doing their best a capella rendition of an old Celestina Warbeck classic, only slightly off key.

Harry ordered a sandwich from the counter and sat at a table with his files. It wasn't until he was almost done that he noticed a young witch circling the room. She kept pausing near his table, then walking away, only to return a minute later and do the same thing over again. She was young, perhaps just out of Hogwarts, with curly hair pulled into two bushy puffs. She wore DMLE robes, though not auror ones.

Harry wracked his brain. She did look slightly familiar. She was probably one of the obliviator trainees he'd approved of months before. Or she might have been one of the new paperwork filers. He wasn't totally sure.

As Harry polished off his sandwich, she finally got the courage to get close enough for him to say, “Come on then, out with it. What was it you wanted, Miss…?”

She practically jumped at his direct address, but then she gave a hesitant smile and spoke, only trembling slightly. “Marjorie Kittwell, sir,” she said. “Junior magical law enforcement foot patrol.”

Foot patrol, Harry thought. That was certainly a thankless task. “Yes, I remember you. Thanks for the reminder.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said in a little rush. “I told my mum and dad last year about being a lesbian and they didn't react well. Mum was raised in a pureblood family and she still has some old fashioned ideas about things. They hadn't cut me off, but they said so much shite, you know? Only, a couple of weeks ago, Mum said about reading your interview. She's always been an admirer of yours. She said positive things. Positive things about being gay.” Marjorie chuckled. “I mean, it was still quite ignorant, but she also said I should invite my girlfriend round for when we have our family tea. Mind you, I don't know if I will, but… Morgan, I never thought I'd see the day. And it's really thanks to you.”

“Oh,” Harry said, slightly flustered. “I don't think I can take credit. I mean… I didn't… I didn't do anything.”

“Bollocks you didn't!” Marjorie said, then clamped her hand over her mouth. “I'm getting that in check, sir. I know it's not a good trait in a foot patrol witch to blurt out things.”

“It's all right,” Harry said.

“Thank you,” Marjorie said. “But it really was on you. I can't thank you enough.”

Harry, rather than feeling good, felt a stab of guilt. “I'm sorry, Miss Kittwell, but I ought to have done it sooner if it was going to do anyone any good.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No one should have to come out if they don't want. My girlfriend isn't out to her parents. She's muggleborn and they're immigrants and quite religious. She says it's a miracle that they accept her when she's using magic. To add this might ruin what little relationship she has with them. You had your reasons, sir. I'm just glad you did what you did now.”

Harry was too flustered to respond immediately, but Marjorie took it as her dismissal from the presence of the great Harry Potter, head of her department. She made a slight meeping sound. “Sorry if that was an overstep, sir. I'll let you finish your food!” She hurried away, not even looking back.

Harry gathered his files and deposited his plate on the counter to be taken and washed. For a moment, the guilt lingered, but then he took a breath and let it go.


End file.
